by Tony Bulmer
CONSPIRACY OF FIRE TONY BULMER
The individual is handicapped by coming face-‐to-‐face with a conspiracy so monstrous he cannot believe it exists.
The American mind simply has not come to a realization of the evil which has been introduced into our midst. It rejects even the assumption that human creatures could espouse a philosophy which must
ultimately destroy all that is good and decent.
J. Edgar Hoover, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation 1935-1972
01
Honolulu, Hawaii. The time for death was at hand. Senator Tex Johnston stood at the picture window of his 48th floor penthouse suite gazing out over the city into the Hawaiian night. His excitement had been building for weeks, until now it had reached a wild, almost intoxicating crescendo. Soon, the world would hear the clarion call of a bright and glorious new future, but in order to herald in this new age of mankind, the senator knew he would have to kill.
Clasping his hands behind him, the senator took a breath that drew him up to his full height. He felt the adrenaline building now. Oh what a future it would be, a future filled with the freedom and liberty that was the birthright of all mankind. But such a glorious resurrection could not come without sacrifice. The old and treacherous past, with all its squalor and degradation would have to be expunged; swept away by the power of the new.
Soon, they would come . The senator had arranged it. They would come silently under the cover of darkness, to ensure that his carefully laid plans could not be threatened—there was too much at stake. Greed and betrayal could not be allowed to derail the righteous destiny of mankind.
The senator felt euphoric. He was an apostle of the new future. A thousand years from now, voices would unite, across the world, to speak of his selfless dedication to the cause of freedom and justice.
Soon, they would come , soon. The deaths would be quick and efficient.
Ghostly reflections of the apartment danced across the window. The governor by the bar and the girl, flaunting herself in her skintight dress, wearing heels so high she could barely stand. The senator watched, as she tottered forwards, bent towards the bar and sniffed noisily, at the lines of white powder. A lewd comment from the governor filtered across the room. The girl let out a shrill laugh.
The senator shivered, as the ghastly drunken laughter snaked around him. The girl was ugly, her tiny body augmented with pneumatic breasts, created by the hand of a lustful surgeon. Her face meanwhile, was a hard sculpted
approximation of what beauty might be. The senator felt a growing sense of contempt—how many cold impersonal scenarios had this woman known? How many diseased liaisons had she endured, until she had arrived here, at this pivotal moment in the history of man? The senator turned his head quickly, furtively, so that he might seek confirmation of the ghostly scene reflected in the window.
“Come join us senator,” cooed the girl.
The senator flashed a thin smile and turned back to the window.
Soon they would come. Soon they would be here.
“Hey, Johnston, get over here. This is some of the best blow I’ve ever tasted. You want to do business with the big boys, you’ve got to learn to party like the big boys, you understand me?”
The senator understood. The governor was weak; a man of avarice, fond of ungodly pleasures of the flesh, and as with all such men, he was easily manipulated. Even now, as he sat at the bar quaffing Napoleon Cognac and running his filthy pervert hands all over the girls body, the senator knew that there would be no place for such weak and ungodly men in the new order of things. Such men were the very reason that mankind had fallen into the cesspit of depravity foretold by the apostles of old. The weakness and the corruption of the old world had to be cleansed, washed away— along with the injustice that had, for so long held down the cause of the emergent man—strong, powerful, chaste of heart and mind.
The senator balled his hands into fists, his fingers turning white, as the pressure amped through every part of his being.
Soon they would be here, soon.
The governor was drooling into the girl’s cleavage now, his lascivious face pressing hard against her breasts. It was a sickening sight. The senator felt repelled, and yet fascinated by this nauseating seduction—the slickness of the girls flesh, alive with the power of sin; her bulging, unnatural body, writhing under the pressure of insistent fingers—the whole horrible scenario so sinful and unwholesome—and yet—
The senator tore his eyes away, forcing himself to look outside into the swirling night. Far below on the boulevard, cars crawled like cockroaches in the cold neon, clogging the diseased streets with the aimless throb of urban decline. The senator had no time for these little people engaged in their pointless cycle of consumption
and waste—a journey to the liquor store; a trip to visit some ungrateful relative, or a run to buy gas with meager wages, so that rudderless lives might maintain the pretence of normality—work, consume, procreate—faster and faster, until death was upon them all. Didn’t they realize as they lived their repetitive insect lives, that their meaningless routines would soon be thrown permanently, irrevocably into disarray?
“What the hell are you looking at Johnston? You keep staring out the window like that and this little lady right here is going to think you
downright inhospitable. You don’t want to be a party to that kind of misunderstanding now, do you? Because if I remember rightly, we had an agreement—you do remember our little
agreement, don’t you senator?”
Tex Johnston turned, gave the governor a cold look. “I am betting there are a lot of sharks in that ocean out there.”
The governor paused, wiped the wetness from his face with the sleeve of his coat and said, “Sharks you say? What in the wide world are you talking about senator, you trying to make some kind of candy-‐assed moralistic point? I thought you Texas boys had balls?”
The senator stared back, said nothing. The governor flashed a broad,
orthodontically adjusted smile.
The girl looked worried, “What’s he talking about sugar-‐cakes?”
“Pay him no mind, honey, the senator here might come across as some kind of soft-‐soaped southern hayseed, but he’s really one of those
Washington DC boys through and through. Ain’t that right senator?”
“Have no fear, for the oceans will rise up and wash away your sins.”
The governor’s smile melted south, “You best be thankful I took me a handful of those little blue pills senator, because that weird-‐assed bible talk is a regular cold bath for folks looking to put a little romance back in their lives, if you know what I am saying.”
“He is scaring me,” squawked the girl, h
er tone amping shrill in the awkward stillness.”
“Now you quiet down there, sugar-‐cakes. Looks to me like the senator here is getting overwrought on account of the fact he missed out on Sunday service this week—ain’t that right senator? But I know just the thing that will set you straight…”
“I have no interest in your sordid
compulsions governor,” said the senator. “I am here as facilitator, to herald in the new era of man.”
“Now listen to me, you self-‐righteous little prick, there will be no heralding in anything unless you do exactly as I say. We had an agreement remember?”
“I am protected.”
“Protected hell, you are my bitch on the Hill until I say different. Are we clear senator?”
“The wave of righteousness is coming.”
“You better cut it out with that Old Testament talk, because I got the inside track on your bullshit plans, and unless you come good with our agreement, you will be kissing goodbye to your cushy little career in Washington, faster than you can say Federal indictment.”
The senator smiled, “They are coming. Soon they will be here. The time to repent is at hand.”
“He has called the goddamn cops,” shrieked the girl. “That’s it. I am getting out of here—And don’t think I am not going to run your cheapskate credit card anyways—because I will. Then you and your freak show boyfriend here can talk chapter and verse until the second coming of Christ for all I care.”
“You ain’t going anywhere sweetheart, you are staying right here,” snapped the governor nastily.
The girl ignored him, grabbed her clutch purse and cigarettes and flounced towards the door. She made it two steps, maybe three and the governor caught her roughly by the arm.
“You ain’t hearing me little lady, are you now? When I told you that you were going nowhere, I meant you were going nowhere—”
The girl let out a petulant gasp, but her eyes were hard and angry. “Get your goddamn hands off me, you animal.”
There was a hard rap at the door.
“You see,” snapped the girl. “You’ve gone and upset the neighbors now. I am out of here.” The girl twisted free of the governor’s pincer grip.
“This is a penthouse apartment, we don’t have any neighbors to disturb,” blurted the senator, “save for those below and the concrete floors are a foot thick at least.”
But the girl paid him no heed. She stalked unsteadily towards the door, two pairs of eyes watching her go. She paused, looked through the spy hole in the door and said, “There is some woman out here, looks kind of sleazy if you ask
me—if you were thinking of getting kinky, you have got to know that the sleazy types cost extra.”
The governor shot Tex Johnston a sly look, “Why, you are some kind of dark horse Johnston. You had this little scenario planned all along am I right?” Then, without even looking, he said to the girl out the corner of his mouth, “So what you waiting for honey, let our guest in. I am guessing she isn’t going to bite, if you ask her nice that is.”
“What you think I am, your personal door service now, Mr. Big shot?”
“No need for that kind of tone sugar-‐cakes. What say we put our little disagreement behind us?”
The girl looked back with a sneer, and popped the latch on the door. As it swung open, the senator caught sight of a smartly dressed woman, her face part hidden by the brim of a flamboyant hat. No sooner had this fleeting image registered, than it was rapidly and shockingly dispelled, as black dressed figures in masks, barged their way through the door and dragged the girl roughly inside. A third figure entered behind them and forced a clear plastic bag over the girl’s head
The girl struggled wildly—her mouth gaping, like a drowning fish as the bag misted over with her gasps of terror.
The governor stepped forwards, a cry of outrage coiling at his lips, but the woman in the hat moved quickly—she gave him a brass knuckle punch that snapped his head back like it was coming off his shoulders. He fell hard against the bar, with blood and gore trailing out the side of his mouth.
“What do you think you are doing?”
snapped the senator. “This wasn’t the agreement.
You were supposed to take them elsewhere—this
place belongs to me—what on earth are you
thinking?”
The woman said nothing. She stood by the
bar watching, as her assistants lowered the choking
girl to the floor—watching, as the girl flopped and
thrashed, the tightened bag revealing every last
contortion of her dying face. When at last the
horrible death spasms were at an end and the girls
lifeless corpse lay, arched horribly on the cold, hard
floor, the woman in the hat finally spoke.
“Your job is done and for that you have our
thanks senator.”
“Now wait a second. I ain’t done lady, not by
a long shot. When the new wave of righteousness
comes, I am going to be sitting in the oval office. I
am the architect of the new south, the savior of new
world order—none of this would have been
possible with out me.”
“But you murdered these good people here,
didn’t you senator? That cannot go unpunished.” The senator’s eyes widened with sudden
understanding. “I am protected, protected I tell
you—don’t you understand—I am the architect, the
apostle. My contribution to the future of mankind is
sacred beyond the judgment of man.”
The men in black had him now, holding him
tight like they held the girl.
The woman in the hat nodded quietly,
moved in close and whispered, “If you don’t want
this to hurt, you better hold out your arm.” “I am protected!”
The flat edged blow hit the senator hard in the windpipe. He let out a horrible, strangled gasp and his body slumped into the arms of his captors. He tried in vain to draw breath, but it was no use. The woman in the hat removed the brass knuckles and gently massaged her gloved fingers. She reached inside her jacket and drew out a black Sig Sauer 226. A sad, ironic smile twisted at her lips and she said, “Lovers tiff—a horrible thing—but your adoring public, I am sure they will understand senator.” She drew out a bulbous black silencer from her coat pocket and attached it slowly, lovingly to the end of the pistol, ensuring that is was fully and tightly fixed. Then she looked at him thoughtfully, “Tell me, all that talk about minorities in your campaign senator—you actually believe any of that shit?”
The senator gave her a terrified look. The woman in the hat nodded thoughtfully, “Uh-‐huh. That’s what I thought.” The senator was writhing feebly now, not quite knowing what was coming next, but joining the dots anyway. They were just trying to scare him, throw the fear on him, so he would keep
quiet about the governor and his little whore. That is what they were doing, surely?
The woman stood close now, so close he could feel the softness of her blouse; smell the allure of her scent reaching for his groin. She grasped his hand, prying the hard black handle of the gun between his reluctant fingers—then, as her gloved hand closed over his, she forced him to aim at the prone body of the governor.
“We have to make it look good, you know that don’t you?” she whispered, her mouth so close
he could almost feel the lipstick on his face. The senator closed his eyes, felt his bladder open wide. She squeezed his hand once then twice, the gun made a sinister phut-phut noise.
The senator kept his eyes closed tight. He felt the spreading wetness in is groin, felt his captors spin him around, in a horrible deathly embrace. Again she squeezed his hand phut-phut.
The senator choked back a scream then heard himself pleading over and over again, “Don’t shoot me. Please, don’t shoot me.”
The woman laughed, it was a light, ugly laugh, infused with contempt. “I wouldn’t dream of shooting you senator, that would be far too easy wouldn’t it?”
He opened his eyes; saw the bullet holes in the window. Saw that the jagged gaping holes had crazed the reinforced glass with a million razor cracks. He didn’t have time to draw breath—no time to scream, because he found himself being lifted bodily and pitched forwards, catapulted into the crazed surface of the glass, as though he were being launched through a car windscreen. But, there was nothing to restrain him, no seat belt, no air bag, just the shattered pane of glass between him and the endless night outside.
He felt his face hit, felt his head embed in the glass, felt a million razor shards tearing at his flesh. Dazed, his eyes filled with a kaleidoscope of dazzling light. What kind of hell was this? It took a long moment for him to realize what had happened—but when he did, he gasped with terror—his hands and feet scrabbling desperately to gain some kind of traction—any kind of traction.